


Watcher in the Woods

by SenoraKitty



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Case Fic, Fawnjohn, M/M, Past Underage Sex, Teen Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenoraKitty/pseuds/SenoraKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There has been a murder. Sherlock returns to his family's old summer home to investigate the death of a young teen from the near by town. Quickly he finds himself facing obstacles that endanger his family. It isn't until he meets an otherworldly creature that the pieces begin to fall into place even as Sherlock's reality falls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watcher in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This has nothing to do with the Disney movie, or the book by the same name. I just feel the title is fitting. I wanted to do a faunjohn story that is pretty much the reversal of the fawnlock trope. I had to think of some reason why Sherlock would go to the country, and what perfect way to do that than with a murder. I knew it couldn't be just any murder, but something specific to get him there. Then I started thinking about Broadchurch, and everything fell into place after that. This is not a fluffy Story. There are some cute moments, but they are not the focus of this story. Simi-dark theme, series violence, and Sherlock having a bit of an existential crisis.

Sherlock pulled into the the drive of his family's summer home, which was more like a small estate than a cottage; as they were used to calling it. He noticed that the local authorities were already there to speak with him. Which probably was due in large part to his brother's meddling. 

_“There is something I need you to look into at the cottage.”_

_“Not interested.”_

_“This is a very sensitive situation, and the presence of a Holmes is...required.”_

_“Then take care of it yourself. I am not interested in dealing with small town authorities with their questionable investigation methods, and lack of standard forensic equipment.”_

_“This is not a request, Sherlock. I cannot leave London with Parliament in it's current state, and I can assure you this situation is of the up most importance.”_

_“...When will I receive the information?”_

_“You'll receive the file when you get there.”_

 

Sighing, Sherlock cut the engine to his rented range rover. He knew from his conversation with Mycroft that the situation was a crime, most likely a murder. Otherwise his brother would have sent one of his minions to handle it. Obviously this required much more finesse, and care than Mycroft's people could be bothered to exhibit.

Sherlock found he could not take his eyes off the place that held so many childhood memories. It looked the same now as it had back then, only smaller somehow. Of course childhood perception made everything look bigger than it actually was. There was something off about the property though, and it took Sherlock a moment to suss out what it was. There on the welcome mat was a fair amount of dirt, as if someone had wiped their feet before entering.

“Mr. Holmes?” The officer standing beside his patrol car greeted Sherlock as he stepped out of the off road vehicle. “Your brother called saying you'd be arriving. Said you'd want to take a look at things for yourself?” The man sounded skeptical of Sherlock's interest in the case.

“Yes, I'll be working with you on the investigation.” At the even more scrutinizing look Sherlock begrudgingly took a moment to clarify. “I'm a consulting detective. I work with Scotland Yard on a regular basis.”

The officer made a nonverbal sound of understanding. “The sergeant said something like that.” He, Lt. Davis judging by the name on his uniform patch, shuffled through the papers atop the roof of his car. Pulling out a large manilla folder, he held it out to Sherlock for the detective's perusal. “You'll be wanting to take a look at this then.” 

As the folder was passed off Davis continued speaking while Sherlock silently looked through the paperwork and photos. “Terrible mess, boy would have been fifteen next month, family is devastated, and the whole town is on edge. This sort of thing may be common in the big city where you're from, sir, but for a murder- a murder of a child no less, to happen here. It just doesn't happen...”

While the lieutenant carried on about small town life and crimes, Sherlock studied one of the photographs. It was a wide shot of the clearing where the body had been found in the woods, near the outskirts of the town. Sherlock knew the woods well, he used to play there often as a child during their summer holiday. 

In the photo the body was near the center clearing, nothing in the surrounding area looked like it had been disturbed. There were no signs of a struggle and it was obvious that the boy had been murdered somewhere else and the body was disposed of in the clearing. At that moment it clicked together in Sherlock's mind. The police weren't just meeting with him to share information. They were at the scene of the crime.

It was a sensitive situation indeed, but not for the reasons Sherlock had originally though. Of course the brutal murder of a child was sensitive, and high priority for any community. However, if word got out that a child had been murdered on the property of the Holmes family's summer cottage there was a large window open for a scandal. It wasn't his own reputation that Mycroft was worried about, the whole Holmes family was at risk of being slammed by the media. That was not something Sherlock was willing to let happen.

“I take it the sergeant is already inside waiting for me?” He asked, cutting off Lt. Davis' inane rambling.

It took a moment for the officer to register the question. Eventually Davis nodded and waved Sherlock toward the front entry way. “Yeah, he went in to get another look at the scene. You'll find him in the basement.”

The basement as Sherlock recalled was made to be a family room. He remembered there being french doors that allowed morning light into the space. Often times he would stay up late, and sneak out through those doors to look at the stars.

Sherlock shook himself of the memory, but it still left a question lingering in his mind. Why was he going in through the front when the doors would have been a much quicker way to the basement? Sherlock almost smacked himself for the stupid thought. It was obvious that the murderer had broke in through the doors, and they were now a part of the crime scene as well.

Sherlock opened the front door and stepped over the threshold. The smell of old stone, wood, plaster, and a well lived in home wafted past, covering him like a welcoming blanket. It was enough to make his head swim in it's familiarity. Shaking himself of the feel of nostalgia, Sherlock made his way to the basement stairs.

The property had not been unkempt. The family paid a local maid to clean bi-monthly in case mummy Holmes, in one of her many spur of the moment endeavors, decided to visit. From the report it was the maid, Mrs. Holly, who had discovered the crime scene first.

“Davis?” He heard a gruff voice call from below as he reached the stairs. The sergeant had likely heard him approaching and mistook him for his fellow officer.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he corrected before ducking under the police tape, and descending the stairs. “Lieutenant Davis said that you'd be down here.”

A tall man in his mid forties looked up from where he was kneeling over a large blood stain on the floor. “Mr. Holmes, Sergeant Roger Kipp.” The sergeant motioned to the room with his hand. “What do you think? Your brother said you were some sort of expert with this sort of thing.”

Sherlock highly doubted his brother had used such words to describe his powers of deduction. However, he was not above being flattered by the comment.

The sight of blood being in the same spot where Sherlock remembered playing as a child brought an uneasy roil to his insides. Clenching his jaw, his eyes swept over the room, taking in every piece of information they could digest. 

As he had suspected the french doors had been the culprit's point of entry. There was glass on the floor from the shattered pane closest to the door handle. It looked like a breaking and entering, but it was obviously staged to look that way. The murderer was trying to cover his tracks. That much was eventide from what their maid had found. A rug had been used to cover up the blood. Poor Mrs. Holly had discovered it when she moved the rug to sweep the floor. Other disturbances in the room were throw pillows being out of place and the couch cushions having been sat on recently.

Sherlock spun in place searching for the missing piece, but he could not find it. There was no sign of the murder weapon, and there were no photos of one in the file. However, the initial coroner report suggested blunt force trauma as the cause of death.

Taking a deep breath Sherlock recalled to Sgt. Kipp, in rapid succession, what he had managed to deduce so far from the surroundings. “I need to see the body, and the place where it was found.”

The sergeant scratched the back of his head trying to take in everything Sherlock had relayed to him. “Well the body is still in the morgue, but you'll have to wait to go into the woods. It's getting late, and it would be dark by the time we hiked to the clearing.”

Sherlock huffed, clearly agitated by the lack of cooperation he was getting. Before he managed to voice his frustration however, Kipp cut him off.

“If you want you can come with us tomorrow. Mr. Smithfield lives in a cabin not far from where the boy was found. We're going to head up there to see if he heard anything last night.”

Sherlock was cut off once again, but this time it was by a voice calling from up stairs. “Hey sarge. You about done?”

Shaking his head at the lieutenant's impatience Kipp called back. “Yeah Davis, I'm coming.” Turning back to Sherlock he gave the detective a weary smile. “If you like we could put you up at a hotel for your stay or-”

Sherlock waved off the offer. “No, no I have no problem staying here.”

“Right, well I guess I don't have to tell you not to disturb the crime scene.” Kipp was clearly uneasy with anyone staying in a home where a crime was recently committed. 

The situation did not bother Sherlock in the slightest. The dead had already been done, and if the murderer did return to try and clean up his mess again Sherlock would be there to catch him in the act. 

“I'll be staying upstairs. If anything comes up call me immediately. I believe my brother was prompt enough to give you my number.”

“That he did.” Nodding Kipp uttered a quick “see you later,” before heading up to meet with Davis. Soon after the two officers left Sherlock alone in the cottage.

After retrieving his bags from the car, and getting settled in Sherlock found himself standing at the bottom of the basement stairs. The sun was setting, and the room was already dark. Sherlock could just make out the inky black silhouette of the woods against the indigo sky beyond the french doors. He peered into the darkness getting the most peculiar feeling that something was staring right back at him.


End file.
